


A Funeral With Friends

by Nitrobot



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Gen, Good fucking riddance, Joke Fic, everyone dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-08 14:32:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7761613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nitrobot/pseuds/Nitrobot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodimus wakes up and all his friends are dead. Not that he notices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Funeral With Friends

"Rise and shine, guys! The Knights of Cybertron aren't gonna find themselves!” Rodimus called out as he stretched the fatigue from his cables, completely disregarding that they hadn't actually been searching for them for at least a whole stellar cycle now. He walked alone from his berthroom, accompanied by his yawns and echoing peds, fully expecting to find the corridor empty until Cyclonus’ looming figure standing at the end of it scared him enough to almost empty his tanks.

“Primus, Cyclonus, could you lay off the whole ‘vengeful ghost of the Decepticons’ act for once?” Rodimus laughed nervously to cover up the thudding leaps of his spark in its chamber as Cyclonus slumped stoic and silent against the wall. “Do you even recharge at all? You got some kinda secret Decepticon meditation technique you're hiding from us?” He patted Cyclonus’ helm, not particularly hard… but enough so that his remaining horn snapped off and clattered on the floor between them. The mech didn't notice or comment, or even threaten to turn Rodimus’ frame into a toaster for touching him. Rodimus himself was staring at the broken energon-spotted horn, furrowing his eyeridges at Cyclonus’ blank optics, pale faceplate and utterly silent vocaliser… not quite noticing the giant blade spearing through the former Decepticon’s chestplate.

“Might wanna get that checked out, buddy. We’ll go see if Ratchet’s awake,” Rodimus advised, not quite clear on whether he meant the horn or the lethal wound. The oblivious captain marched on, not looking back to see if Cyclonus’ corpse was managing to follow. He only stopped outside Chromedome’s room, noticing the locked door rather than the giant tears through it, making the lock utterly useless. Frowning, Rodimus banged on the battered blood-stained metal and called out;

"Yo, Chrome, are you still crying about that dead camera in there? Cause I gotta say, no one even knew you guys were supposed to be a couple until it was convenient so it kinda seems like you're just faking to get outta work.” That's what Rodimus had always assumed, along with the rest of the crew left to pick up Chromedome’s slack. But whether he was right or not, the so-called widow didn't voice any protest, or anything at all. He must have still been asleep, lazy fragger. Rodimus didn't care much, he could just steal his rations while he was still recharging. 

“Hey Ratcheeeet? You in here?” Rodimus sidled into the med-bay, only avoiding pools of congealed energon covering the floor with sheer luck as he cast his optics about. “Hm… no one guarding the rations for once.”  
If he wasn't distracted by the mound of energon cubes left up for grabs he might have noticed Ratchet’s legs dangling from the ceiling fixtures, and his torso left rusting in one of the labs along with Brainstorm’s mangled remains. But he simply grabbed all he could carry before someone could stop him, popping them like snacks into his mouth as he made his way to the front of the ship, so invested in filling his tanks that he didn't notice the Minicon sprawled on the floor until he went tumbling down to join him.

“SON OF A-!” Rodimus lay amid scattered cubes, rubbing his ped where it kicked against Tailgate’s frame. When he noticed the mech lying face down in his spilled fluids, sizzling bullet holes all over his hidden front plates, Rodimus felt more annoyance than pity.

“Tailgate, for the last damn time, don't just lie around like you own the place! This is, what, the third time you've almost been stepped on now? Keep it up and you’ll end up tossed out the airlock!” He kicked the Minicon half out of frustration and half to get him out of the way, sending him rolling down the hall on his wheels with a sticky trail of energon trickling behind him. Watching Tailgate escaping only made Rodimus even more annoyed.

“Hey, don't go rolling off to your eggplant aft dad, you stay here and you face my ranting!” But Tailgate refused to obey, stubbornly persisting in trundling away from Rodimus’ accusing outstretched servo. He might have chased after the Minicon and regathered his cubes if he wasn't headed in the opposite direction, so he just grunted a groan and headed for the haven of the command room (or so it was called- not very much commanding actually happened in its walls). But halfway there his processor, at least the parts he didn't leave behind on his pillow, actually started working. 

"Something... something isn't right around here,” he muttered, skidding to a slow stop. Everyone ignoring him, the barren corridors, no sounds of chaos from the labs or early morning rounds at Swerve’s… something had changed overnight. Yet no matter how much Rodimus rubbed his chin and clicked his glossa, only now noticing he was the only one in the room, he couldn't place what it was.

It was only when he clicked his digits that the epiphany slammed into him, pulling a proud grin over his faceplate. "I know!" Now his hesitant marching evolved into long leaps down the hallway, bringing him to a covered viewport set in the wall. He stopped to roll the shades up, letting in distant starlight all around… and Overlord looking in like a lost turbofox as he clung desperately to the side of the ship.

"Please let me in, I'll be good!” he promised, looking only slightly psychotic now that he was pouting and covered in a mosaic of rust and energon. 

"Hell no!” Rodimus said, jamming a digit against the glass right at Overlord’s bulging lips. “You messed up my intergalactic quest for glory!”

“Actually you were doing a good enough job of that yourself-” Overlord’s deadpan was cut off as Rodimus set the shades down again, covering the viewport and the Deceticon’s pathetic pleading.

“Hmph, that's better!” He dusted his hands off, affixing the proud aft expression again as he set off further down the corridor, completely forgetting there was more than one window along the wall until Overlord popped up in the next one and almost sent his spark leaping up his throat.

“Come oooon, I didn't even kill anyone important!” the Decepticon said, splaying his hands against the glass as if he could push his way in. It was a point Rodimus couldn't argue with (mostly because he didn't even know half the bots on the casualty list) but he still wasn't about to set out the welcome mat for the lavish-lipped lunatic.

“That may be true but you still suck according to this list I made!” Rodimus brought up the datapad from his subspace to the glass, showing a screen labelled ‘100 Reasons Why Over ~~lord~~ weenie Sucks’ and pulling it away before the weenie in question could skim over it.

“But I’m so lonely!” Overlord whined, following Rodimus across a whole line of windows as the captain marched on. He even brought out something that would have once been Rewind, but was now just a blinking and battered helm. “Have you seen the things on this camera’s hard drive? Nothing but boring old home videos, and I've already drained his tanks!” 

Rodimus reached the end of the corridor, so focused on Overlord that he didn't notice Rung’s entrails spread all around it as he walked past (and over and under) them. “Well you shoulda thought of that before you decided to go on a rampage!” He was already through the door before he finished his informal farewell to Overlord, collapsing with heavy optics and his back against it. 

“Primus, I need a drink already…”

Swerve’s bar was just as deserted as it sounded, with not even the mech himself standing at his station. Either he still thought Overlord was going to eat him whole or he just couldn't be bothered to guard his precious high grade stash. Whatever the reason, Rodimus figured he deserved a rough day discount and happily helped himself to an entire shelf’s worth of it. His optics swam in vosiaka by the time they picked up something other than the sheer white of the walls, the unmistakable colours of Ultra Magnus sternly standing out under a thick coat of dried energon from his severed servos. Rodimus walked, stumbled, then relented to crawling up to him and lying down in the shadow of his colossal peds.

“Magnus, why’s everyone ignoring me?” he lamented in a slur, knowing the walking jail cell was the only one who'd never pass up an opportunity to remind him of his many flaws and failures. “I'm not even being that much of an aft today! I mean… I only was if they deserved it!” He lay there for a few klicks, perhaps waiting for an obvious answer or some kind of insult from Magnus’ silent and servoless corpse, before grumbling over a burp and pulling himself back up.

“Ohhh, I see how it is! You're in on the silent treatment too! Let's all mutiny against Rodimus by driving him crazy! WELL YOU’RE NOT EVEN MY REAL DAD!” Rodimus spilled the rest of his drink as he stabbed a servo at Magnus’ limp frame, throwing his glass aside as he swayed past the other deceased patrons slumped around their seats and filling their glasses with their own stale energon. On the way to the command room Rodimus decided he might as well talk to himself if no one else would.

“Fine, fine, I don't even need a fragging team! I can fly this ship perfectly well all by myself!” He barged into the room, blurring past another dead audience and only noticing one of them because he was draped over his seat. “And get out of my damn chair, Whirl! As if you even know how to fly your own alt mode, let alone the hope of our homeworld!” He shoved the broken helicopter aside, sank into his damp captain’s seat as he coiled into a simmering scowling ball with his legs drawn up to his chest. With his blurry optics glaring so hard, it took him a bitter while to notice something sitting right in front of him, a scrawled sheet of film in a familiar handwriting.

“Hey, a note from my new bestie Megsy!” Both Rodimus’ anger and drunkenness seemed to dissolve as he picked the sheet up, whispering what he read as he looked over it. 

_‘Dear Rodimus,_

_I killed all your friends. Shouldn't have trusted the leader of the Decepticons, dumbaft._

_PS: Is that femme Firestar your girlfriend? I took her too. She says my spike is way bigger than yours. Just thought you should know.’_

The sheet fluttered to the energon soaked floor from Rodimus’ limp hand. Wires frozen, his spark turned to ice, all he could move was his optics with his vision brought into a whole new sharper, painful light as it took in the corpses clogging the command room. Whirl’s last fluids were still warm on the seat. So many emotions all at once floating in the stench of betrayal and decay… but the only one Rodimus showed was fury as he bellowed loud enough for even Overlord to hear; 

“HE STOLE MY GIRLFRIEND!?”

**Author's Note:**

> To anyone expecting this to be serious, I regret to inform you that you have been a passenger on my ruse cruise.


End file.
